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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28768116">it's nice to have a friend</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/homielander/pseuds/homielander'>homielander</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Boys (TV 2019)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Disturbing Themes, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Homelander is his own warning, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Possessive Behavior, Sexual Tension, Unhealthy Relationships</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 05:46:47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>18,822</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28768116</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/homielander/pseuds/homielander</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Homelander has been crushed by the loss of Stormfront, Ryan's betrayal, his loosening grip over his team, and the dwindling respect of the public. A reporter comes along and helps him feel less alone.</p><p>Continues where season 2 left off. I am not great at summaries.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>The Homelander | John/Original Female Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>69</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>120</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Homelander walked into the Seven’s conference room, where Stan Edgar and the rest of the superhero team sat awaiting him.</p><p>“Nice of you to join us,” Stan Edgar said evenly in the face of Homelander’s annoyed glower. The caped man took his seat next to Maeve, who wasn’t shy about regarding him with an icy stare as he made himself comfortable.</p><p>Homelander didn’t quite listen as Edgar spoke — he had heard all of this before. He didn’t need to be reminded that his popularity was at an all-time low with the American public, most of whom were both horrified and enraged that he had been shacking up with a literal Nazi. Still, he couldn’t help but scoff at Edgar’s self-importance as he lectured them — the man had been, after all, the one to dispatch Stormfront, elevate her to national importance, and facilitate the spread of her rhetoric. </p><p>Anything to further Vought’s corporate interests.</p><p>He didn’t much care for Edgar’s droning — there was very little he did care about these days — but Starlight was a little more vocal.</p><p>“I’m sorry, but I don’t think we need a lecture from you, of all people, about rehabilitating our public image,” she said pointedly from another end of the table. </p><p>Vought had witnessed its most massive plummet in stocks, ever, and received a good deal of the public outcry, after the news about Stormfront broke. #EatTheRich had just left the top 5 Twitter trends yesterday, after remaining firmly planted there for weeks.</p><p>“You hardly need to worry, Starlight.” Edgar responded coolly. “You’re our most favoured hero right now — you were the primary force in ousting Stormfront. We’ll need you to pledge for the rest of them,” he said, motioning to the others seated at the table, “as a voice that the American people trust.”</p><p>Homelander sighed in frustration. “Fucking hell, I’ve had enough of this. We can handle ourselves if you give us our fucking talking points and leave us to it.”</p><p>Edgar smiled pleasantly at him. “I hoped you'd learned to be more appreciative by now. You’ve taken the worst hit, after all.”</p><p>Homelander remained quiet. “Not to worry — our PR team has developed several ways to get you back on track. For instance, in a few days, photos of Stormfront with the, er, injuries she has sustained, will be leaked by a leading news source, likely the BBC. The natural conclusion will be that you were the one to inflict the knockout blow, given that nobody else could have, and you should enjoy a healthy boost in public support.”</p><p>That calmed him slightly, but a twinge of bitterness did seep through. Stormfront wasn’t gone, but her arms and legs were. According to the doctors they’d consulted, her limbs would likely take decades to regenerate. He was surprised that he didn’t find more relief in the fact that she was still alive, and, as of a few days ago, back in her right state of mind. He supposed the two of them had never been great conversationalists, anyway.</p><p>The rest of the meeting passed uneventfully. Nothing Edgar said was much of a surprise — they would all be rebranding, Starlight would be placed front and center, and A-Train would attend more significant, albeit scripted events, with greater frequency. The latter had become something of a victim in the eyes of social media, where Vought analysts and conspiracy theorists fervently insisted that his departure from the Seven after Stormfront’s rise to prominence could not have been a coincidence. </p><p>Homelander wasn’t sure where to go after the meeting had convened — his schedule had been cleared of most public engagements for the next two weeks or so. He had visited Noir, who was recovering from a Maeve-induced allergy attack, already, and the doctors assured Homelander that Noir would be back on his feet within a few days. No point in visiting again.</p><p>He was tempted to make a visit to a baseball game, a concert, even a fucking park, but his last public outing had not gone well. The boos and furious cries from the same public that once cheered his every move still rang in his ears. </p><p>The people weren’t quite ready to welcome him back just yet, Ashley had explained later with a tremor in her voice.</p><p>It had been three days since then. Surely enough time had passed?</p><p>A minute later, he opened the door to her office, where Ashley was speaking to another girl. He caught Ashley hurriedly muttering, “you should be good to go,” to the girl, who smiled brightly at her.</p><p>He crossed the room to where the two were standing at Ashley’s desk. Ashley’s heart was beating like she had just sprinted from her apartment to Vought Tower. She was clocking in at about 150 bpm, which had to be some kind of a record for her.</p><p>“Who’s this?” Homelander asked, cocking his head to the girl who was watching him curiously with a polite smile on her face.</p><p>Before Ashley could respond, the girl chirped in. “I’m a writer for the New York Post, sir. My name is Alice O’Neil,” she said excitedly, holding out her hand. “I’m a huge fan!”</p><p>He eyed her with some exasperation, but shook her hand. Her handshake was surprisingly firm. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Alice. Ashley, can I talk to you?”</p><p>“What the fuck?” he whispered once they were across the room. The reporter had busied herself looking out the window. “I’ve heard more than fifty fucking lectures about how we don’t need the media snooping around right now.”</p><p>Ashley looked terrified. “Well, the Post has always been supportive of Vought. They’re one of the only news sources that hasn’t ruthlessly slammed us recently. I’ve already cleared it with the PR team and Mr. Edgar.”</p><p>He felt his anger rising. “And with <em>me</em>, Ashley?”</p><p>“I- I didn’t know- I was just about to.” When he didn’t respond, she continued nervously. “She wants to do an in-depth profile of the Seven, spend some time with you all alone, and she’s assured me she doesn't expect comments on recent events if we're not comfortable. It’ll be positive publicity to remind the world of all the good you’ve done. Plus, I’ve talked to her and she’s very sweet. Really a huge fan of the team.”</p><p>He glanced over at her again, and she was considering the pair of them carefully. When he caught her eye, however, her expression reverted back to a friendly smile. </p><p>Well, she did look completely harmless. She was dressed in pink, for fuck’s sake, with a light pale pink shirt, and slightly darker pink pants. It was a professional look, but still struck him as a bit ridiculous. Her black hair was clipped up, long enough so that it tumbled down her shoulders. She had a warm, beige complexion. She was undeniably gorgeous — enough so that he was inclined to accept the offer for a private, one-on-one interview with little hesitation. </p><p>“It should be fine,” he said to Ashley. He turned back to the reporter with his signature, charming smile. “I’ll see you for our interview!”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hello! This is my first time posting a fic in 5+ years so I apologize if this sucks a little (or a lot). This chapter is just a little introduction, and hopefully gives you a sense of where Homelander is at this point in time. I will try to update soon and I hope you all didn't hate the chapter!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello! This is way sooner than I expected to be updating but I was really excited to write this chapter and the nine lovely people who gave me kudos for a scrappy intro only encouraged me to keep writing. Enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Alice’s first interview was with Black Noir. She and Ashley had agreed during their meeting a week prior that she would visit the private suites of the Seven, one by one. The superheroes would grant her a glimpse into their personal lives. Regardless, she felt slightly ridiculous walking into the infamously silent superhero’s suite.</p><p>It wasn't quite what she had expected. The place was more modest than she had anticipated, and had mostly basic furnishings. There was a bed with a single, rather thin blanket at one end of the room. The only other things of note were a large bookshelf that covered an entire wall, a phonograph perched atop a table next to his bed, and a Baldwin grand piano that occupied most of the remaining space. There was a small seating area facing the large window at another end.</p><p>Noir closed the door behind her, and she watched, uncomfortably, as he wordlessly made his way to the seating area.</p><p>Maybe she should clarify the purpose of this particular interview. “I know I can’t exactly ask you questions in the traditional way, but I was hoping you could take me through things you like to do, how you spend your spare time…” she trailed off at his lack of indication that he had even heard her.</p><p>“Do you mind if I take a look around?” she asked hesitantly. He turned to look at her (or perhaps in her general direction, she had no way of knowing) and then turned back around, preoccupied with staring at the New York City skyline.</p><p>That meant ‘yes’… right? Well, there was only one sure way to find out, so she trooped wearily to the bookshelf. Upon closer inspection, she could see that along with books, the shelves contained an extensive collection of old records. She picked one out at random, seeing the label “Modest Mussorgsky” on the center in a neat scrawl. She looked at a few more, observing that all the records were labelled with names of composers, most of whom she recognized. She sauntered to the other end of the shelves, where she saw the names of various classics — a full collection of the Theban plays, Lolita, Anna Karenina… the works.</p><p>She hummed introspectively, flipping through Rebecca, when she flinched, realizing Black Noir had crossed the room to stand at her side.</p><p>“You have a nice collection here,” she said hesitantly. She slid the book back into its appropriate spot, and Black Noir nodded almost imperceptibly. “Do you have a favourite?”</p><p>He simply stared at her, which she took to mean ‘no.’</p><p>“Um... Do you play?” she inquired, motioning to the piano.</p><p>Black Noir, did, in fact, play, she learned after she sat through an eight-minute piano performance. The piece was strangely joyful, and she watched, slightly bemused, as he became engrossed in the music. She pulled her notepad out of her purse, careful to make as little noise as possible, and jotted down some points.</p><p>He was a gifted player, and eventually she found herself closing her eyes, letting the music flow through her. Piano pieces in particular had always had this effect on her.</p><p>When he was finished, she clapped softly. “That was lovely,” she said, smiling at him. “I’ve never been able to master the piano,” she added as he shifted to face her. “I’m partial to the clarinet, myself.”</p><p>There was no response from Black Noir. Could she have offended him with her musical preferences?</p><p>“I should probably get going,” she added. She sincerely doubted she would learn anything groundbreaking about Black Noir in this meeting. At least she had found out he had refined taste. Absentmindedly, she wondered if he had gone to see Hamilton.</p><p>“Well, thank you for taking the time to do this interview. I’m glad you’re feeling better,” she said as she neared the door. She thought she saw him give a nod of acknowledgement as she slipped out, but she couldn’t be certain.</p><p>In the following two days, she interviewed Starlight, and then Queen Maeve. Two more days passed before she interviewed A-Train.</p><p>Thankfully, none of their interviews had filled her with abject terror, a feeling she sometimes found herself having to suppress in the company of Black Noir.</p><p>Alice had once remarked that Starlight may have been one of the most manufactured personalities in the public eye. Meeting her in-person was an altogether different experience, though.</p><p>Starlight was exactly as warm as one would have expected, but there was an undeniable authenticity to her demeanour that Alice hadn’t observed in the golden girl in a long time. When Alice asked about Stormfront, Starlight repeated the same statement that Vought had officially released — that Starlight had been convicted and imprisoned based on misleading evidence provided by Stormfront, but bravely escaped and informed the team of what she had learned, which prompted the Seven to band together and neutralize Stormfront.</p><p>Yeah, right.</p><p>Still, there was a hint of pride in Starlight’s eyes as she recounted the harrowing turn of events, which served only to evoke grudging respect in Alice.</p><p>Queen Maeve was not as cordial, but still sufficiently polite. She did reveal that she had broken up with her girlfriend, Elena, which was news.</p><p>Alice had just gone through a messy breakup herself, so she sympathized when Maeve gave her a tight smile, and said that she was “dealing with it.” Dealing with it was not fun.</p><p>She asked A-Train about his departure from and swift return to the Seven, but from his response, it was clear he had been given strict instructions on what to say (namely, that the attack on the Capitol had reminded him that he still wanted to help people).</p><p>Still, he was very on-brand, in that he readily supplied her with some poorly-constructed answers to innocent questions.</p><p>For instance: “I was sorry to hear that Alastair Adana, leader of the Church of the Collective, passed a few weeks ago.” That was true. She was sorry, partly. She had accumulated a great deal of shady information about the Adana family over the years, and Alastair had died before she could send out a detailed exposé for publishing. Tearing the reputation of a cult leader to shreds would have been an item checked off on her bucket list, but alas. Alice supposed she could always do it posthumously… the ghost of Alastair would, hopefully, be pissed off.</p><p>“I understand that you joined the Church shortly after you left the Seven,” she continued, “and formed a close relationship with him.”</p><p>A-Train was fidgeting with his hands as he answered. “Yeah, it sucks what happened to him. I was really sorry to hear about it.”</p><p>“Do you want to comment on what he meant to you, maybe?” she asked gently. “Your last conversation?”</p><p>“Well, I owe him a lot. I mean, he helped me get back into the Seven — that was actually our last conversation. He told me that I was back in.”</p><p>“How did he arrange that, exactly?”</p><p>A-Train realized his slip-up, and hurried to correct himself. She pitied him a little, as he scampered to uphold the image of a corporation that had backstabbed him to appease a racist. “I mean, he encouraged me to rejoin. I didn’t need his help. Vought welcomed me back. He just pushed me in the right direction, you know?”</p><p>“Mhm,” she agreed. She’d have to look into that.</p><p>That brought Alice to her final night of interviews. She was meeting Homelander. She felt a strange mixture of thrill and fear as she waited for the elevator to reach the 99th floor. She had quite a few questions for him.</p><p>She knocked on his door, which swung open before she could knock a third time.</p><p>He flashed her a winning smile, as he exclaimed, “Come on in!”</p><p>As she walked to the couch, she noticed how lavish his dwelling was compared to the others she had seen. Though possessing the same basic elements as Starlight, A-Train, and Queen Maeve's rooms, it was far more spacious and the furniture was more elaborate. The seating area was larger, the entire wall overlooking the New York City skyline was glass, and the chandelier shimmered more blindingly. She pondered, looking around, what exactly he could have personalized in this apartment. Queen Maeve had a shielding, four-poster bed, Black Noir had his piano, Starlight had a prayer alcove, A-Train had shoes he had modelled scattered on the walls. She wondered if anything in this place had been put there specifically for the man who lived here.</p><p><em>Maybe he's a gold-encrusted lamp collector</em>, she thought, amused, as she took a seat next to him on an unbelievably comfy, white loveseat sofa. The aforementioned lamp was placed squarely on a table next to her. If she stole it, she could probably pay off her rent for the next month. Or maybe buy that Burberry Kensington cashmere trench coat that she’d had to convince herself was not essential. She was tempted.</p><p>Alice faced him as she pulled out her recorder, notepad, and pen from her purse. She set her recorder on the table in front of them, pressing the on button and turning it towards him. She preferred to do things this way during interviews — record what the interviewee was saying, and jot down what she was seeing. It was a tried-and-true method, and it had worked for her since her first official interview, back when she was in the sixth grade. Her vice principal had been very impressed.</p><p>He was looking at her with an easy smile on his face. His blonde hair was unkempt for once, swept to one side, which made him appear slightly less godlike. Up-close, she was irritated to see that his face was unblemished, his jawline was sharply defined, and his eyes were a striking, icy shade of blue. He really was quite beautiful.</p><p>She cleared her throat (and her head), before speaking. “Before we start, I want to say, I really appreciate you taking the time to do this. I know you must be a busy man.”</p><p>Less busy now than before, surely? He hadn’t been seen out in public for about a week. Not since the fiasco at the basketball game he had showed up to, unannounced. She had grinned a little, watching the footage of his expression morph from confident beaming into an uncertain smile as booing resounded through the arena.</p><p>“It’s no problem at all, Alice.” The sound of him saying her name made her shiver involuntarily. “Journalists like you are what keep us all going. We at Vought really appreciate the work you all put in to make us look good.”</p><p>He was a natural at this. She had recognized that since the first time she saw him on TV, when she was still in elementary school, excited to see a real-life superhero protecting her city. She had never encountered anyone who sold empty words quite as well as him.</p><p>“Oh, well, it’s hard not to,” she laughed a little. “You’re so great at what you do.”</p><p>Blah, blah, blah. Would he skip the pleasantries and let her ask her questions? Ever?</p><p>"Would you like a drink?”</p><p>In her mind, Alice released a string of expletives at him. It was a pleasant moment.</p><p>“No, thank you, sir,” she declined politely.</p><p>“Oh, that’s not necessary. Homelander is fine. And are you sure? It’s no trouble, they have everything here. All I do is press a button.”</p><p>She nodded so fast she gave herself a bit of a head rush. “I don’t want to keep you much longer than I have to.”</p><p>“Let’s get right into it, then,” he said, adjusting himself so that he was sitting in a cross-legged position. His arm was stretched across the top of the sofa, and he was looking intently at her, giving her his undivided attention.</p><p>“Well,” she started, feeling a little intimidated under his gaze, “you’re the greatest superhero in the world, which I imagine is a heavy load to carry around. What do you want your legacy to be?”</p><p>“You know, my dad always used to say that ‘no act of kindness is too small’…”</p><p>She had observed in interviews that his responses were very methodical. He would answer questions directly, give an example, expand on his answer, and then conclude with a thought-provoking comment. It was pretty much the perfect model.</p><p>“... it just warmed my heart to see those boys put aside their differences and play a game of catch together. I may have saved a train from derailing off a bridge, or rescued hundreds of people from a burning building, but at the end of the day, inspiring positive change like that is what matters to me.”</p><p>Awww. What a load of crap. “That’s a nice sentiment,” Alice said sweetly. She continued down her list of questions, asking him about the stress of the job and how he navigated tense situations.</p><p>“What is it like when things go wrong?” she inquired.</p><p>“Well, we do everything we possibly can to prevent that from happening out there. We assess the situation carefully, then plan the best course of action.”</p><p>“Right…although, accidents can happen.” When he stiffened, she continued quickly, “I mean, what matters at the end of the day is that the job is done and you’ve prevented other innocent people from getting hurt.”</p><p>He thought a few moments before responding. “That’s what we’re out there trying to do, every single day. There’s always a possibility that we can’t save everyone, and we do everything in our power to ensure that doesn’t happen. For instance, I still think about those innocent people who died on Flight 37. If only we’d been asked to help… those people wouldn’t have…” he didn’t continue, shaking his head and wiping at his eye.</p><p>Skeptically, she wrote down “choked up” on her notepad, nodding respectfully, and swallowing her disappointment that he hadn’t taken the bait. Not only that, but he’d moulded his answer to emphasize the importance of superheroes in the military — obviously he was far more astute than he let on.</p><p>Speaking of death… “A few months ago, your longtime teammate, Translucent, died protecting our country. How have you processed that grief in the midst of everything else going on?”</p><p>Homelander made the loss of Translucent sound like that of a brother. There was virtually no way that the Seven were as tightly-knit as Vought claimed, and she knew that, but Homelander was so convincing that she felt a little downcast by the time he was done talking.</p><p>“I was very sorry to hear about it,” Alice said. “I know Translucent isn’t the only loss you’ve suffered… Madelyn Stillwell, former Vought VP, also passed away several months ago in an accident. How have you dealt with that?”</p><p>Reading people was an integral part of Alice’s job, and if she hadn’t been so adept at it, she wouldn’t have noticed how his expression darkened at the mention of Stillwell, just by a fraction of a degree. “We were all sad to hear about it. And it was tough, later, finding out that she’d betrayed us all.”</p><p>He appeared very torn up about this “betrayal,” which was interesting considering how little he or any of Vought’s executives had focused on the Compound V reveal. “She oversaw you personally-”</p><p>“Well, she didn’t oversee me.” A strange point of contention.</p><p>“Right, I just mean that she debriefed you on your missions, handled your PR…”</p><p>He nodded, seeming slightly agitated.</p><p>“You two must have grown close, spending all that time together.”</p><p>His eyes narrowed, but his voice was calm when he spoke. “We had a professional relationship. Outside of work, we didn't talk much.”</p><p>Alice knew she was pushing it a little, but the way he was reacting, when he was usually so calm and collected, did not strike her as the behaviour of an innocent person. “Still, all those years on the job… you never suspected?”</p><p>A second passed before he smiled at her, looking frighteningly at ease, tilting his head a little. “We were all as shocked and hurt as the public… more, even.”</p><p>“That must have been difficult for you,” she conceded. She glanced down at her notebook, looking for her next question, when he interjected.</p><p>“Can I ask you something?” His tone was playful, but his question filled her with apprehension. When she agreed, he asked, “What’s the bluetooth for?”</p><p>Her heart leapt to her throat, but she forced herself to remain calm. She had failed to consider that he would notice her bluetooth earpiece, what with the enhanced hearing and all. “Um… a formality, really,” she said, hoping her tone came across as lighthearted.</p><p>“Well, what do you need it for? You’ve got the recorder right there,” he said, gesturing to it.</p><p>“Yeah… well, it’s a stupid safety precaution, really. Some friends of mine always listen in to my interviews in case anything goes wrong. It’s come in handy, in the past. Someone finds out that there are people listening in, and they’re not so inclined to try and shut me up anymore.” Hopefully this was ample justification. It was true, after all. (Well, only one friend, but she figured, if he wanted to, he’d be able to dispose of the two of them within minutes. Better to keep him guessing.)</p><p>“Wow. I’m sorry to hear that… that must have been nerve-wracking.” He paused, then said, “You don’t need it now, though, do you?”</p><p>Her heart was pounding. This felt like a veiled threat: Don’t do anything to piss me off and you won’t need to guarantee your safety.</p><p>“I guess not,” she said, smiling sheepishly. “Force of habit, sorry.”</p><p>“Hey, don’t apologize,” he said. “It’s smart, actually. You can never be too safe.” He took off his gloves as he said it, and at this point she wondered if she should just make her escape, scoop be damned.</p><p>He reached his hand up by her face and brushed through a few strands of her hair, tucking them gently behind her ear. Oh. He was going for the earpiece. She shuddered slightly as his fingertips brushed her ear, and he smirked.</p><p>“Just us now,” he told her, retracting his hand after removing her trusty bluetooth device. She watched as the earpiece was crushed to pieces between two of his fingers.</p><p>“Will I be reimbursed for that?” she asked weakly, her sad attempt at a joke.</p><p>What was the protocol for a crushed earpiece? Her friend Lucy would likely assume she had lost connection, and celebrate her night off with a snack.</p><p>Homelander moved a little closer to her on the couch, which felt like it was shrinking by the minute.</p><p>“Your heart’s racing,” he whispered, and despite her discomfort, she had to refrain from rolling her eyes. As if she needed reminding. He gently extricated the notepad and pen from her hands, and her protests died in her throat as he placed them on the table next to her recorder. “You don’t need to worry. I just want some privacy.”</p><p>She tried to relax at his words, but his closeness was a little dizzying. He was openly surveying her face, so intensely that her uneasiness only grew. His eyes were piercing. Finally, he spoke again. “I knew I recognized you,” he said. It wasn’t a question. “You were on Buzzfeed’s ‘10 people who really hate Vought’ list. Came in fourth, I believe?”</p><p>Ah, man. This might as well happen. “Yeah, I was. Um, I’m surprised you recognized me,” Alice said, letting out a small, skittish laugh.</p><p>“Hmm. How’d you pull this off?” he asked, chuckling. He looked amused by the situation, rather than righteously offended, which was probably a good sign.</p><p>“Well, my name is Alice. Just not Alice O’Neil. Alice Dewan. Alice O’Neil is my pen name, I guess, for the New York Post.”</p><p>“So you don’t write for them?”</p><p>“Not really. I did, a little, when I was starting out,” she said. He seemed mildly captivated by her story. “I don’t write for anyone, exclusively. I’m a freelance journalist.”</p><p>“And, what, it isn’t illegal to introduce yourself under another name?”</p><p>She was anxious as she answered. “Not strictly. I was careful not to lie about anything. The only reason I didn’t use my real name is because I figured your team wouldn’t allow somebody who was notoriously anti-Vought to interview the Seven. And technically, I didn’t mislead Ashley. She assumed. Honestly, I came by for fun,” she admitted. She did babble a lot when she was nervous. “I didn’t think it would work, but your team is…” she trailed off, wondering what the right word was. Incompetent? Reckless? Idiotic? “...Apparently occupied with other things.”</p><p>“My team is fucking stupid, you mean,” he offered, which put a small smile on her face. She hadn’t expected him to curse so freely. “Will these interviews even be published in the Post?”</p><p>“I don’t think so. I mean, I didn’t get anything as exciting as I had hoped for,” she said, prompting him to arch an eyebrow, “but I could still write up a profile for each of you. Maybe send it to the Times.”</p><p>“You have an impressive portfolio,” Homelander said, regarding her with some intrigue.</p><p>She wasn’t sure how to respond to that. Her portfolio consisted of exposing three beloved superheroes from Pennsylvania as ringleaders of a human trafficking scheme, extensively covering the prevalence of drug addiction among superheroes under Vought’s employ, and revealing Lamplighter to be… a bit of a pervert, to put it lightly (and this was published only months after he had left the Seven). Those had been her most major accomplishments, at least.</p><p>She settled for a meek “thank you.” She still felt a bit rattled after revealing her master plan. Plus, Homelander’s proximity to her had rendered her brain annoyingly fuzzy. She knew that had probably been his intention.</p><p>“Will you continue the interview?”</p><p>Yes, the interview! She retrieved her notepad, scanning her page. The next batch of questions were all leading up to his relationship with Stormfront. She decided not to ask those, for she did not have a death wish.</p><p>Were all her questions useless? she wondered as she flipped to the next page. They had all been about rather delicate subjects, such as the fantastic coincidence of super terrorists arriving on the scene exactly when Vought needed them to, helping boost support for superheroes in the military and diverting focus from the Compound V revelation.</p><p>Time to improvise. "Which of your future movie releases are you most excited for?"</p><p>"Did you really go from insinuating that I knew about Compound V to asking me about my fucking movies?" he asked incredulously.</p><p>"Hey, you practically threatened me back there!" she blurted out, feeling defensive.</p><p>"It's Homelander: Origins," he said.</p><p>"Ah, yes, the third remake," she snorted. He looked highly entertained. “Who would you say your favourite teammate is on the Seven?”</p><p>“I love my teammates all equally,” he responded smoothly, and she scoffed. “But, off-the-record,” he said, slipping his hand on to her thigh for support as he leaned in close to whisper in her ear, “Black Noir.”</p><p>Her breath hitched at the contact, and with a hoarse voice, she declared, “I think I should go.”</p><p>Her knees were weak as she stood up, brushing him off, and she shoved her belongings into her purse. She hurried to the door, and reached for the doorknob to escape one of the strangest interviews she’d ever had, but Homelander’s hand wrapped around hers as she was about to turn the doorknob. She whipped around in surprise.</p><p>He was standing mere inches away from her, and she pressed herself against the door in an attempt to back up. She could feel his breath on her face, and his eyes were locked firmly on hers. For a second, she was sure he was about to kiss her, and then he said, “I wanted to invite you to a gala we’re having next week.”</p><p>“A gala?” He definitely didn’t need to be standing so close to her.</p><p>“One of our more, uh, private ones,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Guests include several senators and members of Congress, top Vought execs, you get the idea… and no media allowed.”</p><p>She knew of these galas. Apparently Vought used them as a way to provide their guests with a night of entertainment and fun, and then ask the same guests for favours. She’d heard rumours of blackmail, secret dealings, and orgies, all at these galas. (Alright, so the last one probably wasn’t true, but the night would have great significance, regardless).</p><p>“How would I get in?”</p><p>“‘Get in’?” he repeated, snickering. “Nothing that stealthy, I assure you. You’ll be my guest. All of us in the Seven get a plus-one.”</p><p>It sounded like an incredible offer, but it was way too good to be true. “Why would you do that? I’ll probably wind up reporting on a shady Vought deal. I can’t see what you’d get out of it.”</p><p>She half-thought he would impart a moral lesson on how every action wasn’t transactional — sometimes Vought messaging was hard to shake.</p><p>“You’ll just have to find a way to make it up to me,” he said, winking at her as if they were sharing an inside joke, and stepped away from her.</p><p>“I’ll get you a watch, or something,” she countered quickly, and exhaled in relief. Five feet of personal space had never felt so good.</p><p>“Is that a yes, then?” he asked.</p><p>The decision wasn't tough for her. “Yes.”</p><p>He smirked. “I’ll see you then. Be ready next Friday at 4 pm.”</p><p>“How will I get there? Where-”</p><p>“-I’ll have Ashley arrange something,” he interrupted dismissively, which was needlessly vague. Before she could ask further questions, he signalled to the door.</p><p>Well, that was rude, she thought, huffing as she closed the door behind her.</p><p>She wasn’t looking forward to seeing him next Friday. Hopefully she could keep her distance.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Yay, finally some Homelander x Alice interaction! I hope you all liked the chapter. Feedback and constructive criticism are of course appreciated, just leave me a comment. </p><p>I hope Homelander doesn't come across as out of character here, you'll get a glimpse into his thoughts in the next chapter :) As for Alice, did you like her? I know the beginning went on for a while, but one of the reasons I briefly covered her interviews with the rest of Seven is because I wanted her basic character traits to be established before her first real conversation with Homelander (the other reason is because I love the Seven &lt;3).</p><p>Until next time!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi again! A couple of things:</p><p>1) Changed the title! This fic is no longer called Hoax. Instead it is named after yet another Taylor Swift song. I think the new one fits where I want this story to go much better, and it's all lowercase because of the ~aesthetic~. (To be honest, I hate how it looks with only some words capitalized and it's not correct to write it with all the words capitalized, so I figured I might as well.)<br/>2) This chapter's been kicking my ass for a while (yikes it's difficult to write from HL's pov, in more ways than one) so I decided to just go ahead and publish it before I could tweak it any further. I hope you like it!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Homelander listened to Alice grumbling under her breath as she walked down the halls. He heard the ding of the elevator reaching the 99th floor of Vought Tower, and as she stepped inside, he heard her dial her phone. Who was she calling? </p><p>Somebody picked up on the other end after a few seconds. “Hey! How was the interview?” It was a woman’s voice, which calmed Homelander slightly. </p><p>“Lucy!” Alice said indignantly. “What the hell? You left me out there!” </p><p>The friend’s muffled voice conjured a few excuses — she thought the signal was lost, she assumed Alice would be safe in the company of the world’s most famous superhero, and so on. </p><p>“I don't know," Alice said uneasily. "It felt like he was kind of... threatening me?" </p><p>“Homelander threatened you?” Lucy’s voice shrieked. Alice hissed, presumably from the sudden, loud, ungodly noise her friend had made.</p><p>“He pulverized my bluetooth! Because he said he wanted <em> privacy. </em> And then he got all close to me!” Alice sounded uncomfortable recounting the events of their evening. </p><p>“Ooh!” Lucy squealed, provoking another protest from Alice, who was rubbing her ear now. “He wanted to hook up with you, dumbass!” Alice’s onslaught of complaints was drowned out by her friend’s excited question, “Is he hotter in real life?” </p><p>“I’m not going to dignify that with an answer,” Alice said, sounding slightly miffed. Homelander felt a pang of annoyance. “Just come over in twenty. I’m on my way home right now.” </p><p>Sure enough, Alice stepped out of the elevator, and within a few minutes, a taxi had been parked in front of Vought Tower’s main entrance. Homelander listened as Alice greeted the taxi driver, then got seated. </p><p>Minutes later, Homelander was flying through the city, high enough so that no pedestrian stargazer would see him if they looked up. He was following the cab that Alice had taken, moving at a leisurely pace.</p><p>His brief encounter with her had left him reeling. When she had first launched her barrage of questions about Madelyn at him, he had fought off the urge to wrap his hand around her neck and strangle her slowly. Was this what Vought had come to? What he had come to? Forced to entertain the whims of an insolent fucking journalist searching shamelessly for a scoop?</p><p>It would have been a waste, he had reasoned, of someone who was rather easy on the eye. So he had brushed it off as zeal for her job, had tried to appeal to her in the same way he had done to numerous girls before — prolonged eye contact, a lingering touch — and yet, before the situation could escalate, she had pulled herself away, flustered and wanting, yes, but resolute.</p><p>Alice hadn’t responded to him in the way others had done in the past, with reverence and admiration, unable to resist his magnetism. Given her eager greeting during their first meeting a few days prior, he had expected her to be an easy lay, but of course he knew now that it was a ploy. He wondered how far she would have gone to maintain her cover had he not forced her to come clean. </p><p>He pushed the thought away with a dissatisfied sigh. </p><p>Instead she had been impudent, biting back with sarcastic remarks to the things he told her. Even before he had figured out where he’d seen her face before, he had observed the excitement in her eyes and the challenge in her voice whenever he had been on the verge of slipping up. </p><p>Few people were so bold in his presence. Of course, there were some offenders he couldn’t tolerate  — Stan Edgar, Billy Butcher, Ryan… Homelander felt that frustrating tug at his chest again, and tried to clear his head.</p><p>Maeve, when they had started dating, would poke fun at him (now she treated him with cold disdain). Madelyn had never been one to abide by his orders, always dismissing his requests with a laugh or a scolding, as if he were a child. Stormfront had been the last to playfully tease him, and as he had learned, she had been closer to him in durability than nearly any other superhero on the planet. </p><p>Alice was just a human. He hadn’t detected any superpowers in her — only an abundance of stubbornness. But it had been so much fun to toy with her. Watching her fight the temptation to give in to his advances had been the indisputable highlight of his last few weeks. And he couldn’t deny that he had really wanted her to give in — to see her submit to him completely, so that he could teach her a lesson about respect in a number of creative ways. </p><p>He watched her step out of the cab, thank her driver, and walk quickly into her apartment building, which was more upscale than he had expected. He followed her movement through the walls as she rode up the elevator, and stepped out on the seventeenth floor. She turned once while walking through the corridors, then stopped at a door and swiped her keycard. The apartment number was 1729. </p><p>Her apartment had several large windows and a pair of large glass doors leading to the balcony, covered by thin, translucent curtains, through which he could see her living room, dining room, and kitchen without much strain at all. Calling them rooms was a bit misleading, he thought, as her apartment was very open. The only fully closed room was her washroom, and there were wood accordion doors that opened up to her bedroom. Most of the apartment was scrupulously neat, but her bedroom was a mess. There were clothes scattered all over the floor, books and papers on the bed, and her blanket, compacted into a ball, had been thrown carelessly into a corner. </p><p>She plopped down on the couch, right next to the window he was peering through. He was standing on a nearby building now, but he was far enough away that she couldn’t have seen him, especially since it was dark outside. He saw her yawn, then pull her hair up into a ponytail with a scrunchie she recovered from her purse. She laid her head back on the cushion and sighed loudly.</p><p>Homelander’s mind wandered into indecent territory as he watched her sitting on her couch trying to relax, her chest rising and falling rhythmically. </p><p>A few minutes later, he heard her door open. Alice didn’t seem startled, as a woman with blonde hair and a small stature — Lucy, he assumed — walked into the apartment, locking the door behind her. He was almost surprised to see she wasn’t a high-schooler, given her eagerness on the phone earlier.</p><p>“So, tell me all about him!” Lucy said, hanging her cardigan on the coat rack. “Is he sad about Stormfront? I bet he needed some comfort!” She settled on the couch next to Alice.</p><p>“No, listen,” Alice insisted. “It felt weird. At one point, he sounded angry-”</p><p>“Alice, listen to me,” her friend said, looking at her seriously and taking Alice’s hands in hers. “I know you’ve exposed a lot of shit about superheroes before, but I don’t think you have to worry about the Seven. Stormfront was an exception. They took her down. And Lamplighter was problematic, I guess. But this is the <em> Homelander </em>.” </p><p>“Homelander, who dated a Nazi!” Alice burst out.</p><p>“Yes, but Vought’s made it clear that none of them knew that,” Lucy went on, slowly and softly, as if talking to a child. “Listen, you’ve been stressed and upset recently, and meeting the Seven probably didn’t help your nerves. You probably just misinterpreted the situation.”</p><p>He expected Alice to object, but she exhaled softly. “Yeah,” she said finally. “Maybe.”</p><p>He didn’t buy that she was convinced, but he was surprised at how easily she had accepted her friend’s ill-informed opinion.</p><p>“Imagine that… Homelander was almost your rebound,” Lucy remarked, grinning.</p><p>Rebound? Who was she rebounding from? Homelander felt a faint sense of alarm.</p><p>“No, he wasn’t,” Alice said firmly, glaring.  “He did invite me to a Vought gala, though,” she added quietly. “On Friday.”</p><p>Lucy resumed with her excitable screeching, as Alice explained, rolling her eyes, why she had agreed. Much to his frustration, neither Alice nor Lucy mentioned anything further on the subject of a potential ex. Soon afterward, Lucy started talking about her boyfriend’s refusal to propose as Alice nodded solemnly, and he decided it was time for him to take his leave. </p><p> </p><p>The night of the gala arrived in a flash. The last few days had been an unabated blend of television interviews, hospital visits, field work, and more. Vought had finally allowed the photos of Stormfront’s mangled form to be leaked, and people were quick to point out that such extensive damage could only have been dealt by the most powerful man in the world. Vought had capitalized on the publicity, ramping up the frequency of his public appearances. </p><p>These exhaustive efforts had culminated in his public approval rating climbing back up two measly points. It was still increasing, ever so sluggishly, and Ashley, backed by Edgar personally, had assured him that this was expected, and that it would take him a little while to regain the trust of the public. Potentially months.</p><p>Homelander had not taken this news well.</p><p>The gala was underway and he had been given strict instructions not to pitch anything risky to the various politicians and businessmen he was about to meet. Apparently he would be standing around and looking pretty for the entirety of the ball, not allowed to do anything substantial.</p><p>The silver lining in all of this was that if he had no obligations, he could direct his attention elsewhere.</p><p>He watched from his room as guests poured in. The venue for the gala was the twenty-second floor of Vought Tower, and a red carpet had been rolled out in the main entrance. The entire street was closed off for the event in order to prevent any intruding press from being too much of a hindrance. They could, at most, catch a photo of the guests as they arrived.</p><p>He had instructed Ashley to arrange Alice’s transportation to the event, and for once, Ashley had not been a total disappointment. He hummed with approval as a limousine parked in front of the tower, and Alice stepped out. She was wearing an elegant black, off-shoulder dress, and had chosen to shield herself with a black umbrella as she dashed to the door as fast as she could in her outfit. He suspected the umbrella had less to do with the light droplets falling from the sky and more to do with the barricade of cameras across the street. </p><p>He trained his ear on her as she made her way to the twenty-second floor, and then to her spot for the night. He had arranged for her to be seated alone at her table, which was situated at the back of the room. She began to tap her foot relentlessly, waiting for a Vought executive to start his speech.</p><p>A few minutes later, a familiar, male voice near Alice asked, “Uh… hey, do you wanna sit over here?”</p><p>It took Homelander a few seconds to pinpoint who the speaker was, and when he did, his jaw clenched in anger. Fucking Ashley really couldn’t do anything right.</p><p>“Oh, god, yes,” Alice exhaled, immediately pushing her chair back. “Are all of their galas this boring?” she asked, finding her seat next to Hugh Campbell. </p><p>Homelander watched buttons flash slowly on the elevator he had swiftly boarded. 98… 97… 96… </p><p>“I wouldn’t know,” he said, laughing lightly. “This is my first one.”</p><p>The source of this mishap was obvious, and of course, Ashley had failed to sort it out as usual. Starlight must have invited Hugh Campbell for company — she was all too comfortable defying Homelander’s previously-issued orders now — and asked for him to be seated alone so that he wouldn’t have to mingle with people of greater significance. Of course, anyone seated alone would be settled at the back, and both Hughie and Alice had found themselves next to one another.</p><p>“Mine too! I’m Alice,” she told him warmly, with a tone far more genuine than the one she had taken while meeting Homelander for the first time. The difference between this and her sugarcoated flattery was all too obvious now.</p><p>“I’m Hugh. Uh, Hughie.”</p><p>“I know you.” she realized, the enthusiasm evident in her voice. “You’re Hugh Campbell. You were wanted by the FBI a few months ago.”</p><p>Fucking fantastic. He wondered if Ashley had concocted a scheme for Alice to become acquainted with Billy Butcher and the remainder of his lackeys by the end of the night. Why the fuck was the elevator so slow? He resisted the urge to fry the buttons altogether as he moved past the 86th floor.</p><p>“Uh, yeah, that's me. To tell you the truth, I don’t get recognized often,” he said, a hint of nervousness in his voice.</p><p>“Have they kidnapped you? I can help,” she said, mock-serious. He had observed her with friends and colleagues for several days now, but it irked him nevertheless to see how easily she was willing to be animated with them. She had shown him none of the same courtesy, obviously on guard in his presence.</p><p>He could hear Hughie’s heartbeat slow down as he relaxed. “Surprisingly, I’m here of my own free will. I work for Congresswoman Neuman.” That took Homelander by surprise. He hadn’t exactly kept tabs on Butcher or his crew since their last run-in.</p><p>Alice was silent for a moment. Finally, she said, “Is that why they’ve seated you by yourself? Are they trying to prevent the spread of the anti-Vought agenda?” </p><p>Hughie snickered. “Probably. Why’d they isolate you back here?”</p><p>“For the same reason as you, I suspect,” she said teasingly.</p><p>“What, you also work for Neuman?”</p><p>“I’m a guest of one of the Seven,” she said matter-of-factly. “Black Noir’s.”</p><p>She was remarkably good at lying. Her heartbeat hadn’t quickened even marginally.</p><p>“Oh!” Hughie exclaimed in surprise. “That’s…” he paused, likely searching for an inoffensive word. “...interesting. I think I actually <em> have </em>been put here because of my affiliation with Neuman, though. But how do you know Black Noir? I can’t imagine knowing someone in the Seven personally.”</p><p>Homelander thought Hughie was laying it on a little thick, and clearly Alice agreed. “Right, of course. Well, I interviewed him over a week ago. I guess he wasn’t repulsed, because he handed me an invitation to this gala at the end.”</p><p>The perplexment was clear in Hughie’s voice as he spoke. “What did you talk about?”</p><p>“We didn’t do much talking, actually.” There was an awkward pause before she clarified, sounding embarrassed, “I mean, I mostly just took a look around his room. He’s a man of culture, surprisingly.” Homelander knew all too well what she was referring to: the godforsaken collection of books and music records. </p><p>“Wow.”</p><p>“Yeah.” A few moments later, “I don’t really know why I’m here.”</p><p>Hughie laughed, and she joined in. They fell silent as a Vought executive began to speak into the mic on stage. Homelander relaxed, and the elevator doors slid open on the 22nd floor. Perfect timing.</p><p>“You know, for people who are in the business of producing supervillains, this gala is awfully dull,” Alice whispered to Hughie as a Vought executive thanked people for attending.</p><p>Homelander could tell Hughie had taken a liking to her. He could see them now, sitting across the table from each other, leaning in slightly to talk in hushed tones. She seemed to be enjoying herself.</p><p>“You’re not very shy about trashing Vought for a member of the press,” Hughie said, and she shrugged. </p><p>“Well, I figured you’re not their biggest fan either.”</p><p>“Nah,” Hughie agreed. “The accomplice-to-murder charge was the last straw.”</p><p>Alice giggled. “Have you signed some kind of NDA? Or am I allowed to interview you sometime?” </p><p>“I wish I could answer that.”</p><p>The speech ended a few minutes later, and soon after, guests had left their seats to socialize, grab some appetizers, and collect a drink from the open bar. Alice and Hughie were still chatting, standing by their table.</p><p>Homelander figured it was time for him to step in. He strolled in from the main entrance to the large room, provoking some whispers as he walked past. The usual applause was absent, even as he waved to some awestruck onlookers.</p><p>He tried to concentrate on Alice instead, whose face fell upon catching sight of him. Hughie looked between them in confusion as Homelander stopped in front of her, but Homelander paid him no attention. He knew that focusing his gaze at the scrawny imbecile for longer than a few seconds would seriously test his self-control.</p><p>Now that he was standing closer to Alice, he could appreciate the finer details of her appearance tonight, such as the mid-thigh high slit on the skirt of her dress, or the way her pinned up hair bared the smooth skin of her neck and shoulders. </p><p>“Black Noir is asking for you,” Homelander said to her. Alice looked at him quizzically before registering what he was saying. Homelander leaned in closer to her, his lips brushing her ear as he whispered, “Grab a drink, then meet me on the balcony.”</p><p>She nodded, her cheeks crimsoned, and he smirked, thoroughly enjoying the effect he had on her. As he walked away, she murmured a quick “Excuse me,” to Hughie, then added, “Starlight’s back there, by the way.”</p><p>Homelander very much regretted that his back was turned. He would have liked to see Hughie’s face.</p><p>A few minutes later, he heard the door to the balcony swing open as Alice joined him. She leaned on the railing, a few feet away from him, with a glass of red wine in hand.</p><p>“Do you always eavesdrop on conversations?” she inquired after a few moments of silence. </p><p>“Only when it’s worthwhile. Do you always talk to people as if you’re conducting an interview?” She smiled brazenly at that, and he went on, “Why didn’t you tell Hughie that you were here as my guest?”</p><p>She sipped her wine before speaking. “I wasn’t certain you wanted people to know. I don’t really hear about you bringing random girls to public events very often on the news.”</p><p>That was oddly considerate. “And you thought Black Noir would make for the best cover story?”</p><p>“Well, he’s not going to deny it, is he?” She took another sip of wine, taking in the Manhattan skyline with appreciation. “You shouldn’t have walked up to me right after your entrance, though. I’m trying to go undercover, and everyone was staring.”</p><p>“If you didn’t want people staring at you, you shouldn’t have worn that dress,” he quipped. </p><p>Her ears reddened. “Your sense of humour is awfully risqué for someone in your position. Being the figurehead of Christian America, and all.”</p><p>He laughed. “How did you know about him and Starlight?”</p><p>“I don’t know. I mean, I don’t think Vought would put someone alone purely because they worked for Neuman. Who wasn’t invited,” she said, quirking an eyebrow. “I figured he had to be a guest of someone important, but there’s no reason he wouldn’t be free to sit with them unless-”</p><p>“-Unless he was invited by someone in the Seven,” he finished for her.</p><p>“Exactly. And I guess he didn’t seem like anyone’s type, except for Starlight. Plus, they kept staring at each other all gooey-eyed from across the room. They’re not very subtle.” </p><p>“Hmm.” He could tell she felt unnerved as he inspected her transparently. “You know, it’s not often that we have journalists coming in here, parading as fans when they’re actually critics.”</p><p>He knew she must have a million things to say in response to that, but she stayed silent.</p><p>“Tell me about yourself, Alice.”</p><p>She flashed him a dubious look, her heart beginning to beat faster in her chest. He was a little confused by that — he had thought it was a harmless request — but evidently she didn’t want to entertain the idea of greater familiarity with him. “Sir, I’m really sorry if you were insulted by our last meeting. I understand why, but I assure you, I didn’t mean any harm.”  </p><p>Typically, he might have been bothered to appear moved by such an apology, or felt gratified by her newfound deference, but he understood her well enough to realize nothing she had just said was sincere. She was simply acting out of self-preservation. </p><p>“You can relax, Alice,” he said, trying to make his voice sound as light as possible. “I have better things to worry about than that.” His words had a pacifying effect. “Not everything is a conspiracy, you know. Maybe I just want to know more about you.”</p><p>That much was true, at least. She seemed at a loss for words for a few moments before she spoke again. “Alright then. I’m an investigative journalist. You already knew that bit. I’ve lived in New York my entire life.” She thought for a second, then added, as if she couldn’t help herself, “And gosh, I’m a huge superhero fan.”</p><p>“Obviously,” he chuckled. “I can’t imagine that being a freelance journalist pays much, though.”</p><p>Alice regarded him suspiciously. “No, it doesn’t. It’s more of a hobby. I also teach political sciences at Columbia.”</p><p>He’d known that already, of course. He hadn’t had the chance to trail her as often as he would have liked, given his busy schedule over the past few days, but he’d demanded an extensive file on her. He had spent hours mulling over it, tracing his fingers over pictures of her laughing with her friends, kissing a former boyfriend on the cheek, looking overtaxed with her head buried in a book…  </p><p>“That’s very impressive. And where are you from?”</p><p>“I’ve lived here my whole life,” she echoed her words from earlier, sounding defensive. That was probably fair. He supposed the Stormfront-sized blot on his track record hadn’t done much to endear him to minorities.</p><p>“Were you born here?”</p><p>“Did you do research on me, or something? Because it seems like you already know the answer to that.” </p><p>“Where are you from, Alice?” he repeated, slower and more purposeful. Her lack of cooperation was starting to get on his nerves.</p><p>She seemed to register his impatience, because she swallowed, then said, “I was born in India. My family moved here when I was three years old.”</p><p>Her eyes darted cautiously to the party inside, an action all too discernible to him after their last meeting, and Homelander realized that she was on the verge of leaving.</p><p>“You’ll have to forgive my, er, overenthusiasm,” he said, channelling a rueful smile. “I’ve been a little out of sorts, lately.”</p><p>“That’s alright,” she said, eyeing him warily. She was visibly on edge after he had intimidated her twice within the span of two minutes. He sighed, unable to help his disappointment.</p><p>“Any ideas on how you’ll entrap your next victim?” </p><p>“Not really, no. Um, do you have any advice?” Her dark brown eyes were uncertain as she turned to him.</p><p>“No, but I do have super hearing. You’ll find Congressman Murray to your liking.”</p><p>“Oh,” she said, seeming a little surprised. She looked at where he had pointed, then glanced at him. “And you’ll be here?”</p><p>“It’s a Vought party. Where else would I be?” he questioned, irritated.</p><p>“No, I meant-” she seemed to think better of what she had been about to say. “Thanks for the tip.”</p><p>For the remainder of the night, her eyes flickered back to him, no matter where in the large venue she was standing.</p><p>She did listen in to a few interesting conversations, none of them especially incriminating, but by the end of the night he knew she had learned Vought’s main mission for the night — to make the public more conducive to the release of Compound V. It was nothing revolutionary, but Homelander had wanted Vought’s intentions to be made clear from the get-go, and Edgar had refused, even though halting the rollout indefinitely would strike anyone with any sense at all as an admission of guilt. That was the part Homelander cared about — it didn’t matter to him either way whether others had access to Compound V. His title as the most powerful person on the planet would remain unchanged no matter what. </p><p>At least Edgar wouldn’t have much choice in the matter now. </p><p>Alice and Hughie also talked briefly, as they sat down to eat at their shared table. Alice mentioned that she had been trying to set up an interview with Neuman for a while, and Hughie promised that he would personally see to it that Neuman’s team got back to her with a scheduled date. How sweet. </p><p>A few hours later, as the gala was wrapping up, Alice came to find him on the balcony — a spot he had only left twice for ten-minute intervals to gauge whether the guests would be more welcoming of him, to no avail. </p><p>“Uh, hey,” she said hesitantly, standing on the other end of the balcony. “I just wanted to say thanks for the invitation. I had fun.”</p><p>“It’s no problem at all,” Homelander said, forcing his face into a cheerful smile. “Are you heading home?”</p><p>“Yeah, I’m gonna call a cab.” She stood there for a few more seconds, as if debating whether to say something, then turned to the door.</p><p>It suddenly occurred to him that her fixation on him tonight might not have been a nicety. He felt a perverse thrill overtake him. If she couldn’t summon the courage to act on her desires, he would gladly help.</p><p>“Why don’t you hold off on the cab?” he suggested, taking a few steps toward her. </p><p>Alice appeared to panic a little. “I-I really do have to get home,” she stammered.</p><p>“That can easily be arranged,” he said. "I could fly you there."</p><p>Her face was marked with trepidation. “Honestly, I don’t know if we’re there yet,” she murmured. He appreciated that she still had a sense of humour when nervous. “Thank you for the offer, sir, but I can get there on my own.” </p><p>She was astoundingly levelheaded for someone so frightened, but her faux politeness did nothing to change his mind.</p><p>“It’s no sweat,” he insisted good-naturedly. She opened her mouth to argue, and he cut in. "I insist."</p><p>Something about the finality in his tone must have convinced her. She nodded almost imperceptibly.</p><p>"Great," he said. She pinned herself to the balustrade while he sauntered to her. He could smell traces of the vanilla shampoo she used as he laid his hands on her waist.</p><p>Without warning, he hoisted them a few feet off the ground. She yelped, promptly coiling her arms around his neck and burying her face in his shoulder, which couldn’t have been very comfortable with that eagle on his costume. “It’s not so bad, see?”</p><p>She whimpered against his collar. Homelander inhaled sharply, enjoying the sensation of the entire length of her body flushed against him. She was clinging to him desperately. For God's sake, were humans really this afraid of heights?</p><p>Homelander could feel the cold leather of her clutch against the back of his neck as he travelled through the city, taking great care to be slower and not ascend too high. Alice refused to move, presumably feeling secure in her current position. The sound of their flight was punctuated only by the whistling wind and Alice’s occasional shivering.</p><p>Finally, he had flown them to a spot over the city, one that Maeve had described as “breathtaking,” years ago. Ten thousand feet above the ground.</p><p>“Alice,” he purred. Evidently, she was still disoriented, interpreting his pause as an indication that they had arrived at her home. She peeked over his shoulder, then screamed, clutching him even more tightly.</p><p>“What the fuck, you asshole? You said you’d get me home!” Her voice was muffled, but he could make out the emanating rage. </p><p>Homelander was pleased to see her finally drop the guise of politeness, even if she had gotten a little foul-mouthed while doing so. “You're not going to fall. Super-strength, remember? Just try to take in the view.”</p><p>She sniffled, orienting her head downwards so she could view the sea of lights in the city below. She took a deep, calming breath as she stared down with wonder. “It’s nice,” she said, her voice small. </p><p>“Just ‘nice’? What, do you have something to criticize about this, too?”</p><p>Even in her distress, her jaw set stubbornly. "It's beautiful. I've never seen a sight so magnificent. Thank you so much for making me do this. As a regular human person who can't fly and will die if you decide to let me go, I'm naturally okay with this situation!" Her voice descended into hysteria by the end of her diatribe, and Homelander stifled a laugh.</p><p>"I promise I won't let you go, alright? As long as you behave," he said, infusing that last sentence with just enough gravitas so that she would question whether he was kidding. He enjoyed her snark, but he did need to keep her in line.</p><p>“Just please get me back on the ground,” she pleaded, finally lifting her head to make eye contact with him. Their noses brushed, and he saw her gaze fall to his lips for a split-second. “Can you fly a little lower, too? I feel lightheaded.”</p><p>He could think of a few compelling reasons for that, and altitude wasn’t one of them, but he complied. She continued to hang onto him for dear life as they flew, which filled him with a sick sense of satisfaction. </p><p>After a few minutes, he approached her apartment building. “You know where I live,” she muttered, mostly to herself.</p><p>"Lucky you."</p><p>They landed on the balcony. As soon as Alice’s feet were on the ground, she shoved him off, probably a little more enthusiastically than she had intended.</p><p>"Ouch," he said jokingly. "How'd you enjoy the trip?"</p><p>She glared at him. “It was nice,” she managed.</p><p>"Is that all?"</p><p>“The city looked amazing, from up there,” she admitted, her voice a little stronger now. “And flying was incredible. Terrifying, too.” </p><p>"Hmm." He surveyed her balcony, which was empty, save for the two potted plants in the corner. They were wilting.</p><p>“I can't imagine being able to do that everyday," she said, interrupting the quiet. He raised his eyebrows, and she clarified, "Flying. I mean, you must have been terrified the first time. How old were you?"</p><p>"You really don't quit with the constant investigating, do you?"</p><p>She rolled her eyes. "Forget it. I was just curious."</p><p>How old had he been, really? He couldn't have been more than three years old when Vogelbaum had gone from sliding his food through a slit in the door, to placing it on a high ledge that he couldn't have hoped to reach as a baby unless he mastered flight. </p><p>"I was fifteen, I think," he said. "My dad was working on fixing our leaky roof, and I flew up there to help him out."</p><p>"Of course you did," she said under her breath. "Well, I'm really tired, so-"</p><p>"What did you want to say to me, earlier?" </p><p>Her eyebrows knitted in confusion. "What do you mean?" </p><p>“Earlier, at the gala, when you came to say goodbye. What did you want to say?” </p><p>“Oh! No, that was stupid,” she said quickly.</p><p>“There’s no need to be embarrassed,” he told her reassuringly. “I might even oblige your request,” he added, his voice titillating. She frowned at his tone.</p><p>“Alright, well — and I know it’s none of my business — but I wanted to ask if you were okay?” she said gingerly.</p><p>He blinked. If he was <em> okay </em>? </p><p>“Why would you ask that?” His voice was even, controlled.</p><p>He couldn’t recall the last time anyone had said those words to him. </p><p>She met his expectant eyes after several uncomfortable seconds. “I was hoping that was a rhetorical question,” she mumbled a little hopelessly. “You just weren’t as chipper as last time I saw you. And you spent the entire night sulking outside by yourself.”</p><p>“That wasn’t-” he sputtered. “That’s not what I was doing.”</p><p>“Like I said, none of my business.” She bit her lip, then went on very quickly, as if she couldn't stop herself. "I'm just saying, you've had a rough few weeks. I don't know if isolating yourself is the best solution."</p><p>It took him a couple of seconds to process her words.</p><p>“You're right, Alice," he said nonchalantly, smiling at her. "I just needed some air, back there. But it's sweet of you to worry." </p><p>“Yeah. Um, good night, then,” she said in one hurried breath, opening the door leading into her apartment.</p><p>He wished her good night courteously, not bothering to stop her or invite himself in. She had, very skillfully, killed the mood.</p><p>Homelander watched Alice close the door behind her, then lifted off, disappearing into the night sky.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Feedback is welcomed and appreciated. Let me know your thoughts on the chapter. I'll be back, hopefully soon, with an update. Thank you all for reading!</p><p>Ciao for now :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Alice groaned in frustration as her phone vibrated again. It had been buzzing all night.</p><p>Did she dare to check the name? Maybe it was a friend, she thought, and feeling a glimmer of optimism, she flipped her phone over.</p><p>The name 'Malcolm' was illuminated on the screen in big, white letters, and she resisted the urge to throw it across the room.</p><p>She hadn’t blocked his number, not yet. It had been one whole month since they had broken up, and she had waited for him to call and at least try to apologize. </p><p>He hadn’t bothered until tonight, which made her even more angry. </p><p>She wanted to answer, only so she could scream at him, but she knew she would dissolve into a puddle of tears within a minute of hearing him mutter half-assed excuses. </p><p>Instead, she glared at her phone until it stopped ringing. </p><p>Alice looked back to her laptop. She had been researching companies in NYC that provided private autopsies. Alastair Adana, leader of the Church of the Collective, had died a few weeks ago. She had known this already, but A-Train had unwittingly divulged during their interview that the Collective was responsible for his return to the Seven. That made the situation far more interesting — Alastair dying immediately after a negotiation with Vought? Something in her gut was telling her to keep digging.</p><p>Reportedly, the medical examiner had ordered an autopsy report to be performed, which piqued Alice’s interest — that meant something about the death was suspicious. Unfortunately, his wife had objected to this order on religious grounds. Alice supposed it would be a scandal if the leader of the most massive cult in the country violated the tenets of his ‘faith,’ even in death.</p><p>Still, she didn’t believe that his wife would be satisfied living in ignorance to the cause of her husband’s death for the remainder of her life. And if Mrs. Adana was anywhere near as crafty as her deceased husband, she knew she must have had a private autopsy performed for an inordinate amount of money. It wasn’t like she had any shortage of it.</p><p>The trouble was figuring out which autopsy service she could have used. Alice had narrowed it down to the four most expensive, secretive, and highly-rated ones in the city. She wasn’t sure how she could even access their records, but that was a problem for another day.</p><p>It was 2:32 am, and she had a lecture to teach six hours from now. She pulled out a large binder from a stack next to her bed, found her notes for the next work day, and stuffed them into her bag. This was only her second year on the job as a professor at the University of Columbia (it sounded absurd, even as she said it in her head) but she’d worked out an excellent system for staying on track. The only time she was really thrown off-course anymore was when a current event couldn’t rightly remain unacknowledged in class (and they’d had quite a few of those, lately). Exam season was also killer.</p><p>She grabbed a glass of water, jumping as her phone started to buzz once more. She didn’t bustle to check who it was again, instead tidying up a little bit so that her bed wasn’t bestrewed with loose test papers. </p><p>She collapsed on her bed, pulling the blanket up to her chin. In her peripheral vision, Alice thought she saw a flash of movement outside her bedroom window. She stared for a few seconds, then decided she desperately needed rest as a yawn overcame her, and she fell sound asleep.</p><p> </p><p>Alice’s day had been going fine until she was called by her sort-of-boss, Darryl. He worked for the New York Times, and he'd been the one to get all of her articles published for the past three years.</p><p>“Hey!” she said warmly, pleased to finally be called by someone she actually wanted to talk to.</p><p>“Yeah, hi. Listen, we got a call from Vought. They want to see you.”</p><p>“From Vought?” she repeated incredulously.</p><p>“From the office of Ashley Barrett, the Senior VP. Her assistant said she wants to see you at 3:00 pm today.”</p><p>“Uh… did they say what it was for?”</p><p>“No, but calling your place of work means it probably has something to do with the two articles that we published yesterday.”</p><p>"That's useless," she said with a snort. "The articles are already published, I can’t do anything about it now.”</p><p>“You gotta be careful, Alice,” Darryl said, concern evident in his voice. “Lay low for the next year or so.”</p><p>“Are you kidding me? I’m finally on a roll,” she said. It was true — Alice usually only sent in one or two articles to be published each year. This year, she had already sent three, and was chasing down another lead.</p><p>“Let someone else take care of it,” he rebuked. </p><p>She frowned at the disapproval in his voice. “Fine. Did the assistant say <em>where</em> I’m supposed to meet the VP?” she asked apprehensively. She already knew the answer, of course.</p><p>“At Vought Tower. The assistant said you know where her office is.”</p><p>“I do.” Keeping her voice airy, she added, “Do you know where the Seven are, right now?”</p><p>“The Seven? Did you not hear me? I don’t want you trying to dig up more dirt. Just listen to what the VP has to say, and get the hell out of there,” he scolded.</p><p>“No, but-”</p><p>“<em>Alice</em>," he chided.</p><p>She reluctantly decided to stop pressing the question.</p><p>It was the middle of the day, after all, and the likelihood that the Seven were sitting around at the Tower instead of filming a movie, posing for a photo-op, or, miraculously, saving people, was slim to none. </p><p>Despite what Darryl had assumed, Alice breathed a sigh of relief at the reminder. There was a certain superhero she wanted to avoid seeing again.</p><p>She found herself in Ashley Barrett’s office a couple of hours later, sitting in front of the redheaded woman. </p><p>Alice hoped her voice didn’t relay the nervousness she was feeling. “So, Ms. Barrett, what spurred this meeting?”</p><p>“Because you’ve published a defamatory article about Vought, we have decided to go ahead and sue for libel.” Her tone was very businesslike.</p><p>A few moments of stunned silence followed. <em> Sue for libel? </em>The words sounded foreign as she repeated them in her mind.</p><p>“You can’t do that!” she protested. “Everything I wrote in those articles was true.”</p><p>“Do you have proof of that?” Ashley snapped.</p><p>“Yes, obviously.”</p><p>“Where did you record it? On your phone?”</p><p>Wow, smooth. “I’m not telling you anything,” Alice said coldly. “But this isn’t going to end the way you want. I have the evidence on my side.” She could feel her heart pounding very fast. Evidence be damned, she really didn’t have the resources to handle a lawsuit from <em> Vought International.  </em>Normally, cases would be taken care of by whatever publication had printed the news, but given that Alice wasn't a full-time employee (more of a paid volunteer) she didn't know whether the same rules would apply.</p><p>“Yes, and we have a team of the best lawyers in the world,” Ashley said, smiling petulantly.</p><p>“The profile on the Seven, that was hardly defamatory,” Alice said, attempting to remain rational. “And the article about Vought’s intentions with Compound V...”</p><p>Potentially a little damaging. It had made national news.</p><p>“...It was all true,” she said, far more confidently than she felt. “The public has a right to know.”</p><p>“Here’s what’s going to happen, Ms. Dewan.” Her voice was shaking with anger, so strongly that it startled Alice. “You can either choose to publicly retract your statements about Vought and Compound V, or we proceed with the lawsuit.”</p><p>So that’s why they’d called her instead of sending her an old-fashioned court order. She could choose between ending her career in journalism, or going bankrupt (and still potentially ending her career in journalism). </p><p>Alice took a deep breath, trying to still the frenzy in her mind. If she formally retracted her article, then Darryl, who had vouched for her personally, would probably be fired. She couldn’t do that to him. But if she allowed the lawsuit to proceed, her article might still be discredited, Darryl might still be fired, and she would most definitely lose her savings, her apartment, her position at Columbia...</p><p>It was an impossible choice. She felt her throat constrict as she stared into Ashley’s cold eyes.</p><p>Then the door swung open. Alice, still shell-shocked, didn’t quite realize who had entered the room until she caught a flash of royal blue in the corner of her eye. Homelander paced so that he was standing next to the chair Alice was sitting on. He didn’t look at her, though, remaining entirely focused on Ashley.</p><p>“What’s going on here?” </p><p>Ashley paled as her fingers flew up to comb through her hair. “We’ve decided to file charges against her. I’ve already consulted Mr. Edgar-”</p><p>Homelander raised a hand, effectively silencing her. </p><p>“Ashley,” he said, an edge to his voice. “Did I or did I not make it clear that Alice was my guest the night of the gala?”</p><p>“But she spied on the rest of our guests while she was here, and-”</p><p>“She did exactly what I wanted her to do,” he said, his voice low and dangerously soft. Nothing about his demeanour was openly threatening, but the tension in the room was almost tangible. “I wanted Vought to stop bending to public opinion, and thanks to her article, everyone knows that we’re still on track.”</p><p>She dimly registered in her panic that he’d <em> wanted </em>that news leaked. He hadn’t invited her just to toy with her. </p><p>“And the interviews with me and the Seven, the first time around? That was your fuck-up, that, thankfully, didn’t do any harm. Otherwise this would’ve been a very different conversation.”</p><p>She’d never seen Homelander like this before, so obviously furious. It was a sharp contrast to his all-American wholesomeness (she’d seen through that fairly quickly) and his... well, whatever he was with her. Alice knew that if she was ever on the receiving end of that glower, she wouldn’t know what to do with herself.</p><p>Ashley’s eyes were wide and fearful. Alice felt a twinge of pity for the woman, in spite of all that she had said to her within the past five minutes.</p><p>“I don’t want to hear about this again. Is that clear?”</p><p>Ashley managed to croak out a weak “yes.” Alice looked between the two of them in bewilderment. Had he just fixed it all? Did he really have this level of control over operations at Vought?</p><p>“Come on,” Homelander said quietly, acknowledging her directly for the first time since he’d walked in. </p><p>Alice didn’t exactly want to follow Homelander after that show, but between him, Ashley, and the window leading 99 storeys below, her options were limited. She glanced at the window forlornly.</p><p>He closed the door behind her as they exited Ashley’s office, muting Ashley’s laboured breathing. His hand went to the small of her back, and he led her down the hallway as her mind sounded at least a hundred alarms.</p><p>Since their last meeting three nights ago, Alice had come to terms with the realization that America's favourite hero (or former favourite, who knew) was something of an enigma. This was shocking for a number of reasons: he'd never suffered the scandals that seemed to plague his other teammates on the Seven up until his recent debacles, his public image was so clean-cut that everyone she knew liked and respected him (if only casually), and during interviews, he came across as a charismatic speaker, but as an otherwise relatively uninteresting human being. If, about a month ago, she'd been asked who on the Seven she wanted to be friends with, Homelander would have been slotted last on the list.</p><p>Now, he would still come in last, but for entirely different reasons.</p><p>“Thank you,” Alice said, finally able to find her voice. She figured he had at least earned some acknowledgement, despite everything.</p><p>He smiled charmingly. “No thanks required. I couldn’t let Ashley chew you out for something I put you up to, now, could I?” He was totally relaxed, all hints of rage evaporated, and she once again marvelled at just how fickle he could be.</p><p>“Yeah,” she said, smiling tightly. Truth be told, if anyone else had done what he had for her, she would be effusively expressing her gratitude right about now, but the hallway they were walking through was notably empty, and he was notably bad with boundaries. She needed to leave. “I’ll be off, then.”</p><p>“Going somewhere?” he asked, eyes flicking over her figure. She silently cursed herself for her outfit, a flowy red floral dress. It wasn’t flashy, revealing, or anything of the sort (it was still work-appropriate) but it looked out of place next to Ashley’s power suit.</p><p>She had to think for a second before she answered. She couldn’t risk another forced-into-flying scenario, the last of which had left her legs wobbly for several hours. He’d made it very clear to her that he knew exactly where she lived and worked, and might insist on escorting her himself, ever the gentleman. “Just to a friend’s house,” she lied. </p><p>“Hmm. I, uh, read those articles you wrote,” he said. </p><p>“Oh?” Yikes. </p><p>“I thought you went easy on me, all things considered.”</p><p>She couldn’t help but laugh at that, the tension bubbling through her lips. “It wasn’t an opinion piece.” She'd quite literally typed up the interview transcripts, modified a few things here and there, and sent them in. </p><p>“I was surprised to see nothing about Starlight and her beau, though.”</p><p>Alice scowled at that. “I do have principles, you know. They obviously wanted it to be kept a secret.”</p><p>Homelander looked at her contemplatively. “Why do you care? Doesn’t that kind of thing sell for you people?”</p><p>‘You people’? She’d really underestimated the severity of his superiority complex.</p><p>“Don’t you think you should be entitled to a personal life?” she asked, genuinely curious. “I don’t see any reason to report on it, as long as it doesn’t interfere with Starlight’s ability to do her job. And she seems to be doing it better than the rest of her teammates.”</p><p>She was probably putting a toe across the line there, and he looked at her incisively as they arrived at the door to his room, his hand finally leaving her back.</p><p>“Why don’t you come in?” he asked.</p><p>"I have to get going," Alice said, agitated.</p><p>"Come on! I did just do you a favour. It would be rude not to stop by," he said, his voice playful and his eyes glinting with amusement.</p><p>She felt a rush of exasperation. He was such a dipshit.</p><p>Alice was very tired of being trifled with, and she really didn’t intend to entertain whatever inane power game he was playing. She’d guessed that his ego was fragile, ever since he’d shown up personally to an anti-Homelander protest, but to go to such lengths to rattle her for daring to challenge him was unwarranted.</p><p>Unfortunately, she couldn’t respectfully communicate this to him without dealing yet another blow to his inflated head. </p><p>Was she in any real danger with him? Logically, the answer was yes — he could snap her in half like she was a twig. But would he really hurt her?</p><p>She thought back to their last encounter. He’d flown her to her apartment, in the middle of the night, and they’d been completely alone. He hadn’t tried a thing. </p><p>Sure, he'd been flabbergasted by her concern for him — the way his face had transformed into a camera-ready smile so suddenly was unsettling — but he’d been rendered content merely by seeing her agonize over his attention.</p><p>This was likely the last time she would ever see Homelander — she certainly didn’t plan on making a habit of visiting Vought Tower, and Darryl’s earlier warning about taking a break had proven to be prescient. If she refused his invitation, she expected he would ‘ask’ again, but sternly.</p><p>Was she really going to let him walk away with the upper hand?</p><p>“I’d be delighted,” she said, relishing the momentary surprise on his face, and she walked in as he held the door open for her.</p><p>She couldn’t believe she was back here again, in his personal suite, but at least she had the advantage of familiarity. </p><p>“Can I take a look?” she asked, gesturing to the winding staircase. </p><p>“Feel free,” he said, standing by his fridge, holding a carton of milk. "Want a drink?"</p><p>"No thanks," she told him, making her way to the upper floor.</p><p>She hadn’t been upstairs last time she visited — the rest of the Seven’s apartments didn’t even span two floors, but then again, Vought wouldn’t want anything but the best for their most prized hero. The top floor was more of the same, with a seating area, a television, and his open bedroom. There weren’t any walls or doors blocking it from view, so it wouldn’t be intrusive if she checked it out, right?</p><p>The bedsheets looked unbelievably plush, accompanied by a weighted blanket and very soft pillows. They had a blue, red, and white colour scheme, modelled after his stars and stripes, which was frankly ridiculous, but she stifled a yawn just looking at the bed. She really hadn’t gotten enough sleep the night before.</p><p>She turned around, facing a door that likely led to his closet.</p><p>“You can peek inside,” Homelander said, lounging against the wall a few feet away from her, causing her to jump. She hadn't even heard him arrive upstairs.</p><p>“What do you even need a closet for?” she asked with some interest. “You’ve been wearing the same costume for over fifteen years now.”</p><p>“Why don’t you see for yourself?”</p><p>She approached the closet door warily. “Oh, god, you don’t keep Stormfront in there, do you?” </p><p>He didn’t respond, his expression darkening a little, and she added quickly, “I’m kidding. Jeez.” </p><p>Alice turned the doorknob to gawk, mildly horror-struck, at racks lined with Homelander costumes. It hurt her eyes to look at, a little bit. Did he not have any normal clothes?</p><p>“I can’t wear the same suit everyday,” he explained. “It’s more hygienic, this way.”</p><p>Ah, yes, hygienic. Maybe not the word she would have used.</p><p>“Do you sleep in costume?” she asked, dumbfounded, inspecting the tight spandex on his chest and clunky eagles on his shoulders. His suit didn’t seem very comfortable.</p><p>“I sleep naked,” he informed her. She immediately averted her gaze, peering back into the closet with renewed fascination. </p><p>Alice realized with some clarity that this situation wasn’t ideal. She was with him in his bedroom, and now she was picturing some things she really didn’t want to picture. Hopefully he didn’t have any secret powers not disclosed to the public, such as mind-reading.</p><p>She needed to steer the conversation elsewhere.</p><p>“Where’s A-Train?” she blurted out before she could think better of it. She was at the Tower anyway, and maybe he knew something about Alastair’s autopsy.</p><p>There was some annoyance in Homelander’s voice as he replied, “He’s filming Return of the A-Train.” She refrained from rolling her eyes. “Why?” </p><p>“Do you happen to know where the Deep is?” she asked, electing to ignore his inquiry. </p><p>Homelander scoffed derisively. “Deep? He’s in Ohio somewhere, probably fucking a dolphin.”</p><p>“Oh my god, gross,” she complained. </p><p>“You asked."</p><p>“I guess I’ll just have to make do with you,” she remarked, the words slipping out of her mouth before she could stop them. Hoping to avoid a lewd comment, she soldiered on. “Alastair Adana, leader of the Church of the Collective — what do you know about him?”</p><p>He looked less bothered now that he knew she was only asking about his teammates for work-related reasons. “Not much. He died several weeks ago.”</p><p>“Yes, I’m aware. Do you know <em> how </em>he died?”</p><p>He shrugged, and she got the impression that he really couldn’t have cared less. </p><p>“Have you heard about the dealings he had with Vought?”</p><p>That caught his attention. “It doesn’t surprise me. Edgar does like to keep his enemies close. What kinds of dealings?”</p><p>If he didn’t already know about how A-Train had been accepted back into the Seven, she wasn’t about to tell him. “I haven’t heard anything specific.”</p><p>This conversation had been completely useless. Alice really did make bad decisions when she was mad. But leaving after less than five minutes likely counted as a breach of social etiquette...   </p><p>Good god, was she really thinking about upkeeping social etiquette with the guy who’d flown her across the city without her express permission?</p><p>“Well, this was fun, but I have to run.”</p><p>“So soon?” he asked. His voice was carefully neutral, and she felt a surge of sympathy for him. She’s just learned that he was literally never out of costume (during the day). Did he even have regular friends? Did he have extended family? (Both his parents had apparently passed away years ago.) What did he do, when he wasn’t preoccupied with work? Why was he alone at the Tower in the late afternoon? Was he still moping, like he had at the gala?</p><p>Not her problem, she reminded herself.</p><p>“Don’t wanna be late,” she chirped.</p><p>He nodded. She rubbed her temple, irritated by her commiseration, as she walked downstairs with him following closely behind.</p><p>Her bag began to vibrate, and she stopped, pulling out her phone. She saw Malcolm’s name on screen and huffed — it was a little early for one of his booty calls.</p><p>“Anyone important?” he asked over her shoulder. </p><p>She instinctively pressed the end call button, then realized her mistake. “Crap,” she muttered under her breath. Now that Malcolm knew she had her phone on her, he wasn’t going to stop calling. </p><p>She looked up to meet Homelander’s chillingly blue eyes, and amended, “Um, no, sorry. Not important. Scam callers are the worst.”</p><p>He didn’t respond to that, his expression unreadable. “Thanks for stopping by, Alice,” he said cordially. </p><p>She mumbled a quick goodbye, sparing Homelander a final glance, and hurried out the door.</p><p> </p><p>One would think, after a day involving a narrowly-dodged lawsuit and one temperamental superhero, Alice was entitled to some peace and quiet.</p><p>One would be wrong.</p><p>She had 17 missed calls from Malcolm by the time she arrived back home, and she set her cellphone aside so that she wouldn’t have to hear his attempts to reach her. </p><p>Worse still, he knocked on her door four hours later.</p><p>“Open up, Alice!” he yelled.</p><p>She was curled up on her sofa, trying to remain quiet. She didn’t want to see him.</p><p>“I’ll come in myself! I still have the keys.”</p><p>The keys he’d lost five days after she made him a copy? Fat chance.</p><p>She heard the jingling of the keys and suppressed a groan. How convenient for him to locate them now. Had he even looked before?</p><p>Her door unlocked, and she shot him a nasty glare as he walked in. She hadn’t seen him in a while, and he looked the same as always — sporting tousled brown hair and a douchey sweater. </p><p>“Give me back my keys and get out,” she snarled. </p><p>“I’m sorry,” he said, kneeling by the couch so that his face was level with hers. It had taken him a month to come up with that? She wanted to throw something at him.</p><p>“The keys,” she repeated, holding out her palm, trying to keep her voice steady. “And stop calling me.”</p><p>“If you really wanted me to do that, then why haven’t you blocked my number?” he asked softly.</p><p>He knew why. He just wanted to hear her say it out loud.</p><p>“I don’t have to explain anything to you,” she bit back, and lunged forward to grab the keys out of his hand. He dodged her easily.</p><p>“Alice, we can get past this,” he said, planting himself next to her on the sofa. She inched away from him, shaking her head.</p><p>“I need you to leave, Malcolm,” she repeated. She’d heard these exact words from him already, practically memorized them. “And give me back my fucking keys.”</p><p>He leaned in closer to her, bringing up a hand to stroke her cheek, and she swatted it away. “Alice,” he said reprovingly. “I’m willing to take full responsibility, okay? But you have to meet me halfway here.”</p><p>“You’re ‘<em> willing </em> to take full responsibility?’” she seethed. She knew she shouldn’t be taking the bait, but the words spilled out anyway. “You’re not doing me a favour there. It’s all your fault. It always was, every time.” </p><p>“<em> All </em>my fault? What about you?" he asked, barking out a mirthless laugh.</p><p>"Me?" She hated how small her voice sounded.</p><p>"You don't get to act mad at me when you're not the victim here. You never made any fucking time for me.” His words were laced with venom, and she felt her eyes prickle with tears.</p><p>“No,” she managed, her voice brittle. “You’re not going to pin this on me. You need to leave.” She wasn’t going to have this conversation with him again.</p><p>“You don’t want me to,” he whispered.</p><p>She opened her mouth to say something, anything, in retaliation to that, and then closed it.</p><p>He smiled, taking advantage of her hesitation by careening his head toward her. </p><p>This jolted her into action. All previous traces of doubt disappeared, and she mustered every ounce of strength she had, launching a kick to his stomach before he could get any closer. She hadn't meant to hurt him — her reaction was more instinctual than anything — but she almost felt better knowing he'd at least shouldered some of the pain in this ordeal. </p><p>Her satisfaction was short-lived.</p><p>He stood up with a start, crying out, and then directed several tasteless obscenities her way. Her ears were ringing, but she caught the general gist of what he was saying — that she was responsible for driving him into the arms of other women, that she wouldn’t find anyone better, and that she’d come crawling back to him soon enough. </p><p>She could hear the clink of her apartment keys in his pocket as he stormed off. She flinched when he slammed the door behind him. </p><p>Seconds after he left, tears began to run down her face, and she wiped them away furiously. More streamed down in their place, and her eyes quickly became sore from all the rubbing.</p><p>She wasn’t going to waste another second on him. She’d have to figure out how to get her keys back later.</p><p>She found her phone, and with shaking hands, finally blocked his number. Her finger hovered over Lucy’s name for a second — she’d want to hear about this, Alice was sure of it — but Alice had bothered her enough already. It would only make Alice feel worse to hear the pity in her voice. </p><p>She couldn’t shake the feeling that, deep down, even her closest friend thought she was pathetic. Alice wouldn’t blame her.</p><p>She stood up, paid a visit to her closet, then her kitchen, then the washroom, perusing her apartment for something that needed cleaning or fixing or straightening. Anything to keep her mind off of what had just happened.</p><p>She supposed she could always tidy up her bedroom — she’d avoided it for weeks because it was an absolute monster of a task — but now seemed as good a time as any. She sighed in resignation, starting to make a mental list of what she’d do first (throwing out scrap papers was an appropriate place to begin) when she heard a loud thud, followed by urgent knocking.</p><p>She looked slowly to her front door. If that was Malcolm again, she might seriously murder him. </p><p>The knocking recommenced from behind her. She turned, then gaped at the blue silhouette standing on her balcony. Was that...? </p><p>She crossed the room quickly whilst gently dabbing at her eyes, and opened the balcony door.</p><p>“Uh... hello,” she said, wondering if it would be rude of her to express how weird this was.</p><p>“Alice, hi!” Homelander greeted, as if they were old friends and he’d stopped by for supper. “Can I come in?”</p><p>“Why are you here? At my apartment?” she asked, deliberately avoiding his question.</p><p>“I did a little investigating of my own, about Alastair,” he said shrewdly. “Thought you might like to hear about what I learned.”</p><p>“That’s... nice of you to do,” she said tentatively. She’d had an eventful day, and her mind was swimming with confusion at this new development.</p><p>The wind was blowing through his hair, and she realized how chilly it was. Her own arms were crossed in an attempt to warm herself up.</p><p>She didn’t like Homelander very much, but it would be cruel to keep him out here in the cold. And spending a little while longer in his company wasn’t a dreadful trade if it meant she could uncover more information about Alastair.</p><p>He glanced inside, then back at her, his eyebrows raised in question. There was a strange look in his eye, one she couldn't quite place, but a knot of anxiety formed in the pit of her stomach at the sight.</p><p>She was just shaken up from Malcolm, was all. Homelander hadn't done anything more sinister than politely ask for her permission to enter her apartment.</p><p>And she <em> had </em>been searching for a distraction. </p><p>“Yeah, alright,” she said. "Come on in."</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi friends!<br/>1) If you ever have any fic requests for The Boys, please send them here: https://homielander.tumblr.com/ask (my tumblr acc). I've found myself itching for inspiration lately so it would actually really help me out, too! Any characters, pairings, or storylines are alright, I'll try my hand at it if it piques my interest.<br/>2) I promised at least two people that this chapter would be up 'soon'... about two months ago. I'm sorry.</p><p>Happy reading!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Homelander had decided that Alice was far more trouble than she was worth.</p><p>Well, he thought he had, anyway. He’d resolved to put her out of his mind over the last few days, and had been largely unsuccessful. He knew it was mostly a symptom of his secluded state — she was the first person he’d had a non-work related conversation with in about a month — but that didn’t make it any less inconvenient.</p><p>He’d paid Stormfront a visit for the first time in two weeks. She was quiet and not in the mood to chat (a first for her). She asked why he hadn’t been by to see her for so long — ever since the doctors had informed him that any regenerative function her cells possessed had stalled — and he’d promptly removed himself from the room. After all, the smell of her still raw flesh was overbearing at times — he’d never learned how to regulate his olfactory senses, unlike his enhanced hearing and vision.</p><p>The days following the gala were productive, even by his standards. He and Starlight saved thirty children from a hostage situation at an elementary school, and the day after had been occupied by a meet and greet with grateful, endlessly mewling parents. He’d been forced to endure the trial with only Starlight and several incompetent interns for company. Thankfully, Starlight had the sense to ignore him once the photo-op ended. He had words with Ashley later about the interns, who bugged him incessantly, and two of the three were terminated by the end of the day. The third, who he’d tolerated because she was fairly reserved, quit herself.</p><p>It wasn’t all for naught, because his approval rating had spiked by six points. It seemed that common sense was finally prevailing. </p><p>All things considered, he had been in a comparatively good mood. To top things off, he’d learned something from the rundown of urgent tasks that Ashley droned on about at the end of each work day to her assistant. It came in handy, as he couldn’t keep an eye on her at all times.</p><p>Naturally, when he found out that Vought was planning to sue one Alice Dewan, he was determined to make good use of the opportunity. He could have put a stop to it right then and there, of course, but it wouldn’t be any fun if Alice wasn’t there to witness his generosity firsthand.</p><p>He visited her apartment that night, once he finally had some time to spare, fully expecting her to be fast asleep, but she was absorbed in some strange research project. When they’d talked this afternoon in his bedroom, he realized why she was so interested in the death of the Church of the Collective’s former Chairman — she thought Vought was entangled in the mess somehow. It was a bit of a stretch, but he was happy to engage her. </p><p>Despite this, she left his place rather quickly. He only received mild thanks and a few short minutes of her company for his troubles.</p><p>It wasn’t like Homelander had much to do with his free time, anyway, so he pulled a file on the Collective leader from Vought’s Research Bureau and made his way to her apartment after he had prevented a bank robbery (and stuck around for selfies with drooling fans for a few hours afterwards).</p><p>The wind rippled through his cape as he hovered in the air, stumbling upon a rather strange scene unfolding before him. Alice was trying to ignore the desperate attempts of her former boyfriend — Malcolm, the same Malcolm who had called her at the Tower — to rekindle some sort of relationship. </p><p>He was unimpressive by all standards — lanky and far more self-assured than he had any right to be. What the fuck did she see in him?</p><p>Malcolm was getting a little too close for comfort, and Homelander was ready to intervene when, in an impressive burst of strength, Alice landed a kick straight to the asshole’s stomach.</p><p>She had to endure some unsavoury comments before Malcolm finally left, so Homelander gave her a few moments to compose herself before making himself known. He'd have to take care of him later.</p><p>As for Alice — well, he had the feeling that he'd finally figured out a way to deal with her.</p><p> </p><p>“Charming place you’ve got here,” Homelander mused, surveying her apartment critically. “Little messy, though,” he added, looking in the direction of her closed bedroom door. She frowned at the unsettling reminder of his x-ray vision ability, and at how casually he’d employed it. </p><p>“Thanks,” she said cautiously, choosing to interpret positive intent. Her apartment certainly wasn’t a match for whatever five-star suites he was accustomed to — the paint was chipping and the furniture was shabby — but she did go to great lengths to maintain it. </p><p>“You can sit,” Alice said, motioning to her sofa as she stood there awkwardly, unsure of what to do next. She didn’t typically have anyone other than close friends over, so her hostess skills needed some brushing up. It didn’t help matters that this was a high-pressure situation to start practicing with, given Homelander was filthy rich and would probably find fault in anything she served him. </p><p>“Do you, er, want something to drink?” A drink was a good place to start, right? Her apartment’s tap water couldn’t possibly be below par.</p><p>“Surprise me,” he said with a good-natured smile. “Something warm, preferably.”</p><p>Her mind flashed unhelpfully to an image of a civet cat, and she wondered what kind of coffee brews he was used to. She’d been told before that her coffee, a beverage she rarely consumed anyway, was an affront to humanity (it was apparently too sweet). She didn’t have anything she could use to produce a cup of tea either. She’d grown up in a household where everyone was obsessed with tea, and she had a visceral, negative reaction to the drink now.</p><p>That didn’t leave her with many options, until she remembered the hot chocolate mix her friend had gifted her last year. She dug it out of a pile of untouched packets and got to work, carefully following the instructions on the packaging.</p><p>She was heating up a mixture of ingredients in the pan before she noticed Homelander watching her with mild interest and nearly jumped.</p><p>“You can put something on, if you’d like,” she said to him, hoping her voice didn’t relay her anxiety. She didn’t understand why he was here and what he wanted from her- well, okay, she was fairly certain she had <em>some</em> idea, but she was trying very hard not to think about it so she could get through this evening without much of a hassle.</p><p>Unfortunately, his behaviour wasn’t doing anything to ease her discomfort (rather the opposite, really). “The remote’s on the table next to you.” </p><p>He browsed through some channels and settled on Vought News Network. Good god.</p><p>She saw footage rolling of him greeting fans with an unnaturally wide smile plastered on his face, apparently after having apprehended some bank robbers.</p><p>“You’ve been busy since we last spoke,” she noted.</p><p>“Just doing my job.” Oh, please. This fake humility bullshit did not work on her. Sure enough, he continued, “It was a tricky situation — there were six criminals and twelve employees trapped in the conference room. But I was able to sort it out.”</p><p>She bit back a sarcastic retort. Sorting it out could not possibly be very difficult if one had an assortment of superpowers that even other supes could only dream of. Still, it was good work, so she resorted to a respectful nod.</p><p>“What have you been up to?” he asked nonchalantly. </p><p>“Nothing that important,” she said, as Malcolm's face swam to the forefront of her mind. She felt her stomach clench.</p><p>“Do you live here alone? No roommates, or boyfriend?”</p><p>“I live alone,” she said, dodging the latter part of his question. As if she wasn’t well-versed in the art of casual prying.</p><p>She was so focused on stirring that she didn’t even realize when Homelander came up behind her. He peeked over her shoulder and inhaled deeply, taking in the sweet scent of the brewing hot chocolate, and she recoiled.</p><p>He gripped her shoulders to counteract her abrupt jolt, probably saving the hot chocolate from spilling. “Hey, relax,” he whispered, his breath tickling her ear, which was decidedly <em> not </em>relaxing. </p><p>“I <em> am </em> relaxed,” she lied, very grateful that her voice was even. </p><p>“Doesn’t sound like it," he responded, obviously referencing her heart pounding in her ears.</p><p>“Well-” her voice faltered as his leathered hands moved gently down her arms, causing her skin to tingle. It wasn't an altogether unpleasant sensation. “You snuck up on me,” she said, quieter but still resolved. “Back off.”</p><p>She heard him shift as he chuckled and leaned on the countertop beside her, wordlessly watching as she continued to fret over the hot chocolate. She did her best to ignore him, though that lasted about thirty seconds.</p><p>“What?” she snapped. </p><p>“I’m just admiring your technique,” he said, and she resisted the sudden compulsion to whack him on the arm.</p><p>“<em>Don’t</em> make fun," she said threateningly, and he raised his hands in mock-surrender. She furiously suppressed a smile. "I’m trying my best here. Be warned, though, I don’t know if this will live up to your sophisticated palate.”</p><p>“Oh, for fuck’s sake, I’ve <em> had </em> hot chocolate before. You are aware that I don’t dine on shark fin soup and caviar every night?” he asked sardonically.</p><p>She shrugged. “Who knows what you aristocrats get up to for fun?” </p><p>“Hmm. Shark is disgusting, anyway.”</p><p>She looked at him in shock, and he smirked. “That was a <em> joke </em>, Alice.”</p><p>“Oh, so you <em> do </em> know what those are,” she said, grinning in spite of herself. He was smiling too, a sincere smile, which wasn’t a terrible look on him. “I’m a vegetarian, so the idea of shark is extra sickening.”</p><p>He rolled his eyes exaggeratedly at the revelation, and she felt an overwhelming urge to hit him again. </p><p>“Come on. Didn’t you grow up around animals? You know exactly how horrible their living conditions are.”</p><p>“Around animals?”</p><p>“Yeah, you grew up on a farm, right?” His eyes lit up with dim recognition. Interesting. “I believe I saw a TV spot on it,” she recalled innocently. “There was a barn.”</p><p>He gave her a levelling look, somewhere between entertained and analytical. “Do I always have to watch what I say around you?”</p><p>“Consider this off-the-record. My favour to you,” she said saccharinely. Growing up somewhere that wasn’t a farm — probably the suburbs (oh, the horror) — may have been the least offensive thing about him. </p><p>Finally, she poured the hot chocolate into two mugs and handed one to him, looking at him intently as he took the first sip.</p><p>“So? How is it?” she asked. He glanced at her, face devoid of any indication as to how he'd found it.</p><p>“Wow,” he said after a few long moments of silence. “This is fucking awful.”</p><p>She gaped, and this time, really did whack him on the arm. Maybe it was a bit more aggressive than it should have been, but it wasn’t like it would hurt him, anyway. “That’s <em> rude </em>!”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” he said through laughter, which really seemed to go against the spirit of the apology.</p><p>She sniffed her cup experimentally, then drank a little and gagged. It tasted like sugared water, and the consistency was off, to put it kindly. “I followed the instructions on the box,” she pouted, feeling thoroughly dejected. Alright, so maybe she’d substituted some ingredients with what she’d been able to locate inside her kitchen cabinets, but she’d still worked hard. </p><p>“Don’t feel too bad,” he said, holding up the file on the Church Chairman. </p><p>She felt a flare of excitement at the sight of it, and snatched it out of his hands quickly, flipping through the pages. There were records about swimming classes Alastair had taken as a kid, professor recommendations he’d received from the private university he’d attended, a gallbladder removal surgery he’d had a decade ago… </p><p>“This is… extensive,” she said.</p><p>"Vought has a lot of resources," he explained, and she scoffed. That was a definite understatement.</p><p>“You’re looking for the autopsy report, right? You asked if I knew how he died, earlier. It’s not on record, but…” He flipped to a page near the end, detailing some kind of transactional statement from the Adana joint family account. </p><p>“McEdmund Forensics,” she read triumphantly. That was the account in which the payment had been deposited. “Second place I was planning to check!”</p><p>“Good thing I narrowed it down for you,” he said, and she looked to him seriously.</p><p>“Thank you. This will be a huge help.” With as much genuine appreciation as she could muster, she added, “<em> You’ve </em>been a huge help.” He’d allowed her to continue their first, only technically legal interview, gotten her into an exclusive Vought event, rescued her from the wrath of a pissed-off Ashley… and now this. It really was quite gracious, even if he’d been a total ass all the while. </p><p>“I know,” he said, placing a hand delicately over hers on the countertop, and she risked a questioning look at him. It was far sweeter than anything she’d thought him capable of, but it still made her nervous.</p><p>She fixed a friendly smile on her face, racking her brain for what to do now that she’d extracted the information she needed. </p><p>“I guess I won’t keep you any longer,” she started, pulling her hand away, but she felt the leather of his glove encircle her wrist. </p><p>She let out a soft exclamation of surprise as he pulled her towards him, gentle but insistent. His arm wrapped around her waist, and he pressed her against the hard surface of the counter, closing the gap between their bodies. Her hands reflexively clutched his shoulders for support.</p><p>Homelander smelled faintly of forest, which was not what she'd imagined. </p><p>He used a single finger to tilt her chin up so that she was forced to meet his eyes. She remembered comparing them to ice once, cold and difficult to penetrate, and the comparison had never rung more true.</p><p>“I’m a little tired of our meetings ending on your terms,” he said, his voice low and quiet, sending shivers down her spine, “before I’m done with you.” </p><p>Her mind issued several protests, but she couldn’t bring herself to voice any of them. She couldn't bring herself to speak, or even move. She could hear his breathing from this close, quicker and heavier than usual, and the sound was almost hypnotic, rhythmically lulling her into compliance.</p><p>He caressed her cheek with his thumb, slowly and tenderly, putting her at ease. The cold leather was rough against her skin. There was something methodical and calculating about the movement coming from him, a stark juxtaposition to the inherent warmth of the gesture.</p><p>“Finally speechless?” he asked with a smirk. </p><p>She was able to summon a scathing glare, and he laughed lightly. She wished he’d just get on with it; it was becoming harder and harder (<em> ah, a fitting choice of words </em>, she thought dryly) to ignore the evidence of his desire. She allowed herself an impatient glimpse of his lips.</p><p>Her gaze snapped back up to his. Any traces of humour had disappeared from his face. His expression made her feel uneasy, and some long-forgotten crevice of her mind was begging her to heed caution, but she didn't care. </p><p>Then it contorted into one of annoyance, and he cursed harshly under his breath before extricating a device from his pocket. His Vought phone. She registered the persistent, beeping noise it was making, and blinked several times as if coming out of a trance. Oh, gosh.</p><p>“Fuck. I need to go.” </p><p>“Okay,” she said weakly, her face beginning to burn with shame.</p><p>“It’s important. I have to leave now,” he stated, as if he were afraid that she didn’t understand what he was saying.</p><p>“Mhm,” she managed. Good. He should leave. Her voice was going slack. </p><p>Homelander nodded, then brought her hand up to his lips and placed a light kiss on her knuckles. She watched in mortification as he crossed the length of her apartment, slid open the balcony door, and took off with a loud <em> whoosh </em>.</p><p>Alice stood there, frozen in shock for a few moments before she allowed herself to process what had just happened. Oh, god. <em> Oh, god. </em></p><p>The sensation of his kiss was still lingering on her hand, and she had a bizarre impulse to wash it. Thinking about the encounter made her skin prickle all over — anywhere he'd touched her, anywhere she'd <em>let</em> him touch her — and she concluded that a mere hand wash wouldn't suffice. She needed to shower.</p><p>She needed to sit down.</p><p>She needed to go bang her head against a wall.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Bit of a shorter chapter this time around, but yay, things are happening! (idk lol)</p><p>Anyway, I'd love to hear your thoughts, opinions, or feedback, so leave a comment below!</p><p>And for anyone who's left kudos for, commented on, bookmarked, or subscribed to this fic, thank you!!! I appreciate each and every one of you &lt;3</p>
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